Alone (3 page)

“Phil?” he called again, but now his voice had grown timid. “Susan? Please answer me. Please...?”

His feet faltered in time with his voice. The unreasonable fear deepened, threatening to overwhelm him. The deeper he went into the fog, the worse the feeling became. Dan still had no idea just what he was afraid of. He only knew that he had to get out of the house. Turning, he fled across the room, heedless of the broken glass, and hurried back out the window. His unease subsided as he left the gray haze behind, and his worries for Jerry and Danielle returned to the forefront again.

Seized with panic for his family, Dan charged across his neighbor’s yard, dodged around a tree, and ran out into the street. He shouted as loudly as he could, but his cries sounded hollow and meek. He half wondered if the strange atmosphere was having some kind of dampening effect on sound. He plunged through more of the gloom as he ran across the street. The pavement beneath his feet vanished. He glanced around, looking for the houses and trees that he knew were there, but saw only a wall of gray. Even the curb was gone.
 

Plow through,
he thought.
It’s just fog. A weird fucking fog, but fog all the same. You can do this. You need to find out what’s happened.
 

Trying hard to ignore his fears, he forced himself to continue ahead. As he did, the nameless dread returned again, growing stronger with each subsequent step. He kept going, realizing that he was well past where the curb should have been. Despite this, there was no grass beneath his feet. No yard. No houses or trees or trash cans or mailboxes. It was as if everything on the block, other than his home and the Lopez and Kresby homes had vanished. He turned to look behind him and saw his own house. It seemed to be shimmering. The image made Dan think of the way heat waves were sometimes visible rising off a hot road surface. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head and make sense of things, and that was when he felt it.

Someone—or some
thing
—was here with him, inside the fog. He couldn’t see them or hear them, but he definitely felt a presence.
 

“H-hello?”

He saw no movement, but he sensed it all the same. Something was coming toward him, pushing its way through the haze. His dread increased. The disembodied presence drew closer. He still couldn’t see it, but the grayness seemed to press around him.
 

“Who’s there?”

For a second, the gloom parted, and Dan caught a glimpse of a looming, shadowy figure. It wasn’t human. That much he was sure of. He saw no distinguishing features or traits. No face or clothing. The entity seemed to be nothing more than a black, man-shaped hole, but much larger than a human. It towered over him, dwarfing him with its presence. The grayness seemed to congeal in the figure’s wake. Dan felt the creatures eyes upon him, even though he couldn’t see any. Then, the shadow reached for him.

Screaming, Dan fled back across the street. He ran across his yard and into his house, slamming the door behind him. His fingers trembled so badly that he had trouble working the deadbolt. When the door was locked, he sank to the floor and bit his fist to keep from shrieking.

Dan had no idea how long he crouched there with his back against the door, shivering, stifling his gasps and moans. Slowly, his fear subsided. He listened carefully, but if the shadow had pursued him, then it made no sound. Eventually, he gathered enough courage to crawl over to the window. Then he peeked outside. The yard and street were empty. If the thing was still out there, then it was hiding in the haze.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Dan went from room to room and repeated the process. He peered out each window, looking for any sign of his pursuer. He made sure all the doors and windows were locked. Satisfied that he wasn’t in any immediate danger, he collapsed into a dining room chair, buried his face in his hands. He wanted to weep, but the tears, like his urine earlier that morning, refused to flow.

THREE

D
an gripped the pen so tightly between his thumb and index finger that the plastic casing cracked. Black ink smudged his skin, but he didn’t notice. Instead, he kept singing under his breath.

“I’m making a list, and checking it twice. Gonna find out ...”

His voice faltered as another sob welled up inside of him. He wanted to cry so bad, but for some reason, he couldn’t. Blinking, Dan took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. Then he turned his attention back to the paper lying in front of him on the dining room table. At the top of the paper, in big block capital letters, he’d written THINGS THAT I KNOW. Beneath that was a bullet-point list of all the weird occurrences he’d experienced since waking up this morning.

・
Jerry and Danielle are gone.

・
Jerry’s car is still in the driveway.

・
My watch stopped at 1:46 in the morning. It’s not working.

・
All of the utilities are out.

・
Cell phone won’t power up. I’m betting even if it did, the coverage isn’t working, either.

・
The Lopez and Kresby houses seem to be deserted.

・
Something is wrong with the sound of things.

・
Everything tastes funny. That could be me, I guess. Maybe my hearing and sense of taste are both off.

・
There’s a gray sort of haze everywhere, but it doesn’t feel like fog.

・
Everything in the haze seems to have disappeared, including the rest of the neighborhood.

・
The plants outside feel weird, like they are dying. Could that be because of the haze?

・
The light is different, both indoors and out. It’s gray. That’s probably also because of the haze, since it’s gray, too.

・
At one point, my house was shimmering. When I came out of the haze, it stopped.

・
There is something else out there in the haze. I’m terrified of it.

・
Other than the figure in the mist, I am alone.

When he was finished with the list, Dan leaned back in his chair and sighed. Writing everything down had given him a sense of achievement. It had made him feel like he was doing something useful, and had calmed him somewhat, but he was still scared and worried about his family—and everyone else in the neighborhood, for that matter. He and Jerry had an annual New Year’s Eve tradition. Each year, they stayed up late and watched The Twilight Zone marathon on television. Dan’s favorite episode had always been the one with the meek and bookish bank teller who is the only survivor of a nuclear war. After everyone else on the planet is dead, the teller is overjoyed that he’ll finally have time to read his beloved books without interruption. Dan had always found the premise an enjoyable fantasy, but he regretted that now. There was nothing enjoyable about his predicament.

He took another deep breath and pondered what to do next. He decided to begin by searching the home for clues. He’d been half awake and panicked before. Perhaps if he went back through the house now and searched meticulously, he’d find something that might explain what had happened.
 

Nodding, Dan went upstairs and returned to the bedroom, intent on retracing his steps. He found Jerry’s keys, wallet, and cell phone lying atop the dresser, exactly where Jerry always put them every night. On a whim, he tried Jerry’s cell phone, but it was dead just like his. He flipped open the leather wallet. It had belonged to Jerry’s grandfather, and had sentimental value. Jerry never left home without it, and was very careful about not losing it. If he had left in the night, Dan was certain that Jerry would have taken the wallet with him. Inside the wallet was forty dollars in cash, along with all of Jerry’s credit cards, driver’s license, and social security card. There were no pictures. Jerry kept those on his cell phone.
 

Dan put the wallet back down and noticed that he’d left an ink fingerprint on it. He wiped his smudged fingers on his robe, but only succeeded in smearing the ink more. He shook his head in frustration. With the water off, he couldn’t even wash his hands properly.

He opened the dresser drawers. All of Jerry’s underwear, socks, ties and t-shirts seemed to be accounted for. The ties made him smile. Unlike most men, Jerry had always insisted on storing his ties in the dresser. Dan had teased him playfully about it many times. He tried the closet, and found Jerry’s slacks, jeans, dress shirts, and suit coats hanging in place, many of them covered in the plastic from the dry cleaner’s. Jerry’s shoes were lined up neatly on the shelf above. Dan counted them. Two pairs of sneakers, a pair of sandals, three pair of dress shoes, and a ratty pair of skateboarding shoes from Jerry’s teenage skate punk years that he refused to throw away. Only one pair was missing—Jerry’s bedroom slippers. When Dan turned, he saw them sticking out from under the bed.
 

Okay,
he thought.
If Jerry had decided to leave me for some unknown reason, then he would have taken his wallet and his keys. At the very least, he wouldn’t have gone barefoot.

“Where are you?” he asked the room. “Where did you go? What’s happened to you?”

He blinked his eyes again, willing them to water, demanding they release the sorrow he felt inside, but they refused. His stomach roiled. He forced himself to calm down, reminded himself to focus again on the task at hand. He couldn’t help Jerry or Danielle if he freaked out. He had to stay strong and in control, and approach this illogical situation in a logical manner.

Dan walked down the hall to his daughter’s room. It was as it had been when he first woke up. The bed was still unmade, and the sheets still showed the impression of her body from where she’d slept. He wondered about that. How much time had passed since he’d first found himself alone? Without her body weight, wouldn’t the sheets and pillow smooth out eventually? He wasn’t sure. Although it was Dan who usually tucked Danielle in at night, Jerry was the one who got up with her most mornings.
 

Where was she? Where was his little girl? Where was the brave, funny, loving child, and why did her room feel so empty? He thought of all the times he had taken Danielle to the airport. It was their special thing to do together. They went there at least twice a week, parking in a small field next to the fenced off runway. Dan would spread a blanket and they would sit in the grass together, eating lunch, and watching the planes land and take off. Seeing the wonder, joy, and excitement in Danielle’s eyes every time a plane passed over filled Dan with happiness.
 

Now, the memory filled him with dread, because he wondered if they’d ever be able to do that again.

He approached the bed slowly, and forgetting about the ink on his hands, picked up Danielle’s pillow and brought it to his face. He breathed deeply, hoping for just a hint of her scent—baby shampoo and hair—but there was nothing. His baby’s smell existed only in his memory now. A single blond hair was stuck to the pillowcase. Dan stroked the pillow reverently, and when he closed his eyes, he could see her lying there, sound asleep, and hear her breathing softly. When Danielle was younger, he used to creep into her room late at night and put his hand on her back, just to make sure she was still breathing. Jerry used to laugh about it, reminding him that the baby monitors worked fine, but Dan had never trusted those things. Sometimes, he just liked to be sure. It was comforting to feel her chest moving up and down. Comforting to know that she was safe and sound and secure.

“Daddy?”

His eyes snapped open, and the pillow slipped from his hands. Dan spun around, but the room was empty.

“Danielle? DANIELLE!”

He ran out of the bedroom and into the hall, shouting her name, but the corridor was deserted and he was still alone. It occurred to him that his cries should be echoing in the empty hall, but instead, they sounded flat and meek. The strange dampening effect on sound was still persisting.

“Danielle,” he called again, just to be sure she wasn’t hiding somewhere. When there was still no answer, he returned to her room and stood in the doorway, staring at her stuffed animals and toys. After a moment, he stepped into the room again and picked up Danielle’s favorite, a large pink bunny that they’d bought at Wal-Mart last Easter. Danielle rarely left home without it.
 

“I imagined it,” he told the stuffed rabbit. “I’m just so scared. I miss her. I guess you miss her, too. But don’t worry. We’ll find her. We’ll figure out what’s going on.”

A quick search of Danielle’s closet and dresser confirmed that none of her clothes were missing, either. Dan tried to remember what pajamas he’d dressed her in the night before, after her bath, but couldn’t. He realized that he was still holding the stuffed animal in one hand.
 

“She wouldn’t have left you behind. If they had gone somewhere, she’d have wanted to take you with her.”

He tossed the rabbit back on the bed and wondered what its presence here meant. On the one hand, it could be a good thing. If all of Jerry and Danielle’s things were still here, then it meant they hadn’t abandoned him or fled in the night—not that Dan could imagine them doing such a thing. Why would they? The three of them had a happy home life here. They were a family. It was inconceivable that Jerry would abscond with their daughter in the middle of the night. But the alternative—that something dire had happened to them—seemed just as perplexing. There were no signs of trauma. No signs of a struggle. Indeed, the only signs of violence he’d seen since waking up were the ones he himself had caused—the watch thrown against the wall, and of course, the Kresby’s big bay window, shattered with a ceramic lawn gnome. Could there be a logical explanation for everything that was going on? Dan sat down on Danielle’s bed and considered this. Yes, there was one possibility.